E. Lockhart Quotes

It is not mysterious to be home on a Saturday night, reading a novel in a pile of smelly golden retrievers.

So just be normal," he says, "at least for today. Let's pretend I'm not a mess, let's pretend you're not angry. Let's act like we're friends and forget what happened." I don't want to pretend. I don't want to be friends. I don't want to forget. I am trying to remember.

I don't want to forget I'm trying to remember.

Okay, so I'm completely undignified. As soon as school got out, I ran up to Kim, Nora and Cricket on the quad and told them the news. They were completely surprised and excited: Cricket was even jumping up an down. "Shiv! Ag!" she yelled.
"He's fine," said Nora, giggling.
"Have you seen him in his rugby uniform? He has some serious legs," said Kim.
"How did it happen?" Cricket wanted to know.
I told all.
They wanted to know more.
"What did it feel like?"
Electricity.

I lie there and wait, and remind myself over and over that it doesn't last forever. That there will be another day and after that, yet another day. One of those days, I'll get up and eat breakfast and feel okay.

No one here is a criminal. No one is an addict. No one is a failure.

The Sinclairs are athletic, tall, and handsome. We are old-money Democrats. Our smiles are wide, our chins square, and our tennis serves aggressive.

I thought she was a conniving, lying, man-stealing bitch, and I hoped she would fall in a volcano and die a horrible lava death.7 But

He cried like a man,not like a boy.Not like he was frustrated or hadn't gotten his way,but like life was bitter.Like his wounds couldn't be healed.

I looked at her. my lovely, tall mother with her pretty coil of hair and her hard, bitter mouth. Her veins were never open. Her heart never leapt out to flop helplessly on the lawn. She never melted into puddles. She was normal. Always. At any cost.

Everything he said sounded wonderful, but it wasn't true. I was desperately insecure and I did care what people thought. Jackson wasn't really talking about me. He was talking about an idea of me he'd concocted in his head. As soon as he remembered me and my true weaknesses in the clear light of day, he'd be as cruel this time as he had been the last.

You hate cake doughnuts."
"Of course," says Mirren. "But we didn't get the cake, we got glazed twists."
"And Boston cream," says Gat.
"And Jelly," says Johnny.
But I know Downyflake only makes cake doughnuts. No glazed. No Bodton cream. No jelly.

Why are they lying?

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She is sugar, curiosity, and rain.

See?" I said. "That's exactly the person I don't want to be with. And he's always there, underneath all your charm.

Not one of these symbols of prosperity and taste has any use at all.

The notebook was tattered, and on every fragile page Frankie could feel the fundamental connection between the boys. They were going through life together - whether the pranks they pulled were dumb or brilliant.
She was going through life with no one.

I own a well-used library card and not much else, though it is true I live in a grand house full of expensive, useless objects.

Just think before you complain about stuff other people would love to have.

Do not accept an evil you can change.

A giant wields a rusty saw. He gloats and hums as he works, slicing through my forehead and into the mind behind it.

You think Tide is better, or All?'
'Which has a prettier box?' I ask.
'I don't want a pretty box. I want a dude box.'
Uh-huh,' I deadpan. 'You want a dude box of laundry detergent.'
'Yes, I do.'
'Good luck with that.

She didn't know if she could love her own mangled, strange heart. She wanted someone else to do it for her, to see it beating behind her ribs and to say, I can see your true self. It is there, and it is rare and worthy. I love you.

Gat was my love,my first and only.How could I let him go?
He was a person who couldn't fake a smile but smiled often.He wrapped my wrists in white gauze and believed wounds needed attention.He wrote on his hand and asked me my thoughts.His mind was restless,relentless.He didn't believe in God anymore and yet he still wished that God would help him.

I felt his eyes go over my body in my wet dress.

I hate it when things are unfinished.

I do want people to feel sorry for me. I do.
And then I don't.
I do.
And then I don't.

Don't take no for an answer.

Gideon laughed. "I like to be direct."
"Okay," I said. "But I warn you, I like to be evasive, inserutable and generally send mixed messages."
"I doubt it."
"Human interaction is not my strong point," I told him.
"Not seriously."
"Seriously," I said. Thinking: There is so much about me he doesn't know.
Gideon put his hand on my leg. "What's your strong point, then?"
"Goats," I told him. "I am excellent with goats.

I lie in my darkened room. Scavenger birds peck at the oozing matter that leaks from my crushed skull.

They can't beat when I'm unhappy. They try and fix it; they'd fix the whole world if they could, just to make me feel better-even when it's none of their business. It's one of the many hazards of being an only child.

You are my girlfriend," whispered Matthew. " You're my girl and I'm your guy, and you're my girl and I'm your guy. Let's not fight." -pg 126

Do not think about guys who have broken your heart six ways. It is mentally deranged to chase after heartbreak.

Be sad, be sorry-but don't shoulder it.

No matter how puny your frontal equipment, don't wear the kind with the giant pads inside. If a guy squeezes them, he will wonder why they feel like Nerf balls instead of boobs.

It is not glamorous that I can't drive a car. It is not mysterious to be home on a Saturday night, reading a novel in a pile of smelly golden retrievers. However, I am not immune to the feeling of being viewed as a mystery, as a Sinclair, as part of a privileged clan of special people, and as part of a magical, important narrative, just because I am part of this clan. My mother is not immune to it, either. This is who we have been brought up to be. Sinclairs. Sinclairs.

He didn't shut up when people wanted him to, he made them listen - and then he listened in return. He refused to take things lightly, though he was always quick to laugh.

And now he was mine and I said we should not let our love be threatened.
We should not let the family fall apart.
We should not accept an evil we can change.
We would stand up against it, would we not?
Yes. We should.
We would be heroes, even.

Maybe a friend is someone who wants your updates. Even if they're boring. Or sad. Or annoyingly cutesy. A friend says "Sign me up for your boring crap, yes indeed"
because he likes you anyways. He'll tolerate your junk

Frankie was beginning to realize that the kind of selective memory exhibited by Dean, Star, and their ilk was neither stupidity nor poor recollection. It was a power play - possibly subconscious on the part of the player - but nevertheless intended to discomfit another person who was in some way perceived as a threat.

Open their souls. Open their veins. Wipe off their smiles.
Be a family. Stay a family.

I had kissed an unimportant boy or three by now.

Why did you do all that, Frankie?" asked Porter. "I mean, it was brilliant, what you did, what you made us do - but why would you bother? That's what I can't figure out."
Frankie sighed. "Have you ever heard of the panopticon?" she asked him.
Porter shook his head.
"Have you ever been in love?"
He shook his head again.
"Then I can't explain it," Frankie said.
They went inside and took the geometry test.

So she did not replay, but played the strategist. She retained more power by withholding an answer.

Jule watched a shit-ton of movies. She knew that women were rarely the centers of such stories. Instead, they were eye candy, arm candy, victims, or love interests. Mostly, they existed to help the great white hetero hero on his fucking epic journey.

He looked at you like you were the brightest planet in the galaxy.

Go on, strike, said the witch, smiling. Fire is beautiful. Nothing bad will happen.

It shattered something inside me that hadn't been broken before.

Want to know what I'm thinking about?" Gat asked. "Yes," I said. "No," said Johnny. "I'm wondering how we can say your granddad owns this island. Not legally but actually." "Please don't get started on the evils of the Pilgrims," moaned Johnny. "No. I'm asking, how can we say land belongs to anyone?" Gat waved at the sand, the ocean, the sky. Mirren shrugged. "People buy and sell land all the time." "Can't we talk about sex or murder?" asked Johnny.

Sometimes it's a good idea to think about what you want from a situation, and try to get it, rather than just blurt out the first thing that comes into your head.

as if this tragedy marked the end of the family. And perhaps it did. And perhaps it did not.

It's good to be loved, even thought it will not last

Touching him is familiar and unfamiliar.
We have been here before.
Also we have never been here before.

They know that tragedy is not glamorous. They know it doesn't play out in life as it does on a stage or between the pages of a book. It is neither a punishment meted out nor a lesson conferred. Its horrors are not attributable to one single person. Tragedy is ugly and tangled, stupid and confusing.

My whole body sings to be near him,because every movement he makes is charged with electricity.I often think of putting my arms around him or running my fingers along his lips.When I let my thoughts go there the sharp pain of unrequited love invites the migraine in.

Don't worry, said Frankie. I'm indelible.

Secrets are more powerful when people know you've got them.

It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps to the porch.

...[F]riendship is a method of castration that doesn't use a sharp object.

Never take a seat in the back of the room. Winners sit up front.

We're not friends, Ms. Williams. You're lying to me half the time, and I'm lying to you all the time.

I do not suffer fools

Three flowers for you. You should have three. He looks pitiful. He looks powerful. I love him, but I am not sure I like him. I take his hand and lead him inside.

She will not be simple and sweet.
She will not be what people tell her she should be.

Although she went home that night feeling happier than she had ever been in her short life, she did not confuse the golf course party with a good party, and she did not tell herself she had a pleasant time. it had been, she felt, a dumb event preceded by excellent invitations. what frankie did that was unusual was to imagine herself in control. the drinks, the clothes, the instructions, the food (there had been none), the location, everything. she asked herself: if i were in charge, how could i have done it better?

I just-I don't want to get involved with you Jackson," I said, the words tumbling out. "You're a nice guy, but then, when it comes down to it-you're not, really.

Kim called me a slut under her breath in H&P, and Mr. Wallace heard her and gave a lecture on the negative effects of labels, and how words like that serve to limit women's sexual expression, and how there's a whole history of words that basically mean slut8 and yet there are no equivalent epithets for men whatsoever, and didn't that say something about how women are viewed in our culture? He said a more accurate term could be: "a girl who's using sexuality in an attempt to gain approval from the opposite sex ... ." Or, if you look at it a different way, "a liberated, open girl who likes boys and feels comfortable expressing affection, but is misunderstood." Blah blah blah.
I'm sure he meant well, but I wanted to call Kim a megaslut right back and not think about it anymore

Every curve of his face was familiar, and also, I had never seen him before.

I see it for what is is, now. It is a house built on ashes. Ashes of the life Granddad shared with Gran, ashes of the maple from which the tire swing flew, ashes of the old Victorian house with the porch and the hammock. The new house is built on the grave of all the trophies and symbols of the family: the New Yorker cartoons, the taxidermy, the embroidered pillows, the family portraits.

She made me act normal. Because I was. Because I could. She told me to breathe and sit up. And I did what she asked. Again.

It is true I suffer migraines since my accident. It is true I do not suffer fools.

There was nothing I could say in retaliation except something that would confuse her.

Sometimes people are mean because they feel insecure about themselves.

The jolt of a new purchase makes Mummy feel powerful, if only for a moment.

If you want to live where people are not afraid of mice, you must give up living in palaces.

And then he's grabbing my hand, and pulling me into a storage room they use for art supplies. And he puts his finger to his lips, and the walls are filled with pads of paper and boxes of colored pencils and jars of paint,
and I'm laughing
and he shuts the door behind us
and leans up against it to stop anyone coming in
and like he's trying to get up his nerve now that he's started something,
before we've ever gone to the dumplings and the movies -
he leans in and kisses me.
His lips are cold. The kiss is soft. He has gum in his mouth, and he stops, and giggles nervously, and takes it out and throws it in the trash can,
and looks like he feels embarrassed to have kissed me with the gum,
but I don't care,
and so now I kiss him,
and he's tall enough that he has to bend down to get to me,
and I put my hand on his neck, which is smooth and warm,
and we kiss for a minute in the storage room,and I want to run my hands up his shirt suddenly -
but I don't.
He pulls away for a second and touches my cheek.
"I thought you'd never ask," he whispers.
"I thought I never would either," I say, "but I did."
"Good job," he says, and kisses me again.

We burned not a home, but a symbol.
We burned a symbol to the ground.

She had been nobody and he had been golden.

Cady, I'm serious. We should NOT always do what we're afraid to do,' says Mirren heatedly. 'We never should.'

'Why not?'

'You could die. You could get hurt. If you are terrified, there's probably a good reason. You should trust your impulses.'

'So what's your philosophy, then?' Johnny asks her. 'Be a giant chickenhead?'

'Yes,' says Mirren. 'That and the kindness thing I said before.

A part of me died," he says. "And it was the best part.

The fairies came to christening parties and gave the babies magical gifts.
Bounce, effort, and snark.
Contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee.
Sugar, curiosity, and rain.
And yet, there was a witch.
There's always a witch.

Also, I was living in the middle of my parents' marriage. No one ever says this about families, and maybe people who aren't only children don't even notice it, but half the time I feel like I'm this extra person watching them have a marriage. They fight, they kiss, they discuss the inlaws, they do projects, they take down the Christmas tree and reminisce about things I don't remember, they fight some more-and it's all this personal stuff that I really have no business witnessing, except I have nowhere else to go because I live here. I'm just trying to eat my dinner and instead I'm in the middle of this grown-up relationship that is complicated and disgustingly mushy and sometimes angry.

A tomato may be a fruit, but it is a singular fruit. A savory fruit. A fruit that has ambitions far beyond the ambitions of other fruits.

When we say Shut up, Gat, that isn't what we mean at all.

One day I looked at Gat, lying in the Clairmont hammock with a book, and he seemed, well, like he was mine. Like he was my particular person.

And yet, there was a witch. There is always a witch.

Jule believed that the more you sweat in practice, the less you bleed in battle.
She believed that the best way to avoid having your heart broken was to pretend you don't have one.
She believed that the way you speak is often more important than anything you have to say.
She also believed in action movies, weight training, the power of makeup, memorization, equal rights, and the idea that YouTube videos can teach you a million things you won't learn in college.

I love the idea of the big life - the life that matters, the life that makes a difference. The life where stuff happens, where people take action. The opposite of the life where the girl can't even speak to the boy she likes; the opposite of the life where the friends aren't even good friends, and lots of days are wasted away feeling bored and kind of okay, like nothing matters much.

White Chocolate. Intense, sweet. But not deep. Okay for prom dates or flings, but not to get serious..Milk chocolates are guys you could date for like a few months, and dark chocolates are for love.

We were warm and shivering,
and young and ancient,
and alive.

And now, she was walking down the hall with her books clutched to her chest, looking down at the floor while guys called, Don't hide that light under a bushel!

Other people apologize and don't mean t "Sorry, but you shouldn't have ... " or "Sorry, but I just didn't ... " They apologize while telling you that they were right all along, which is the opposite of an actual apology.

Always do what you're afraid to do.
...
I will prove myself strong when they think I am sick.
I will prove myself brave when they think I am weak.

Jule had many rare talents. She worked hard and really had so damn much to offer. She knew all that. So why did she feel worthless at the same time?

I think there is status to having a house full of pretty things, to buying expensive paintings of seashells from her arty friends and spoons from Tiffany's.

I seem to remember there was some hocus-pocus with that one."
"You mean hanky-panky!" shouted Ruth. "There was hanky panky.

Why is it a good idea for you and not a good idea for me?

Johnny, he is bounce, effort, and snark.

Singin' in the Rain was most excellent if you like movies where people burst into song and tap-dance. Which I do, though not as much as I like movies where people don't.

We can't know or say what other people do. You have to think what you want to do to get the situation where you want it to be.

Well me the real reason. I mean, haven't we been friends long enough that I deserve the truth?